The Road to Formenos
by kasura
Summary: A parody of what drives Feanor to Formenos...


When Nerdanel smiled at him lasciviously after the dessert course at supper, he couldn't suppress his shudders. _Not tonight_, he groaned silently, dreading the eventuality of a certain activity about to take place.

It is like an endless ritualistic dance, she would smile and wait for his response, and he would reciprocate with a meaningful gesture because he is afraid of _hurting_ her feelings…and look what niceties and common courtesy had cost him. But He had to live with her everyday, he reasoned, and the entire household would crumble to pieces if she weren't happy.

With a sigh, he trudged upward to his bedroom like a brave deer caught in a steel trap about to be devoured by the lion but still fighting the impending doom…

Next morning came; he was blessed by the sight of Nerdanel's angry pout, alluding to her disappointment at how mechanical their passion became, with a side serving of muttering what a waste the secret ingredient she had slipped into his soup last night that was guaranteed to spice _It_ up. Eru knows where she got _It_ from?

At breakfast, the whole family quietly polishing their food off the plates, listening to the matron of house shoving her crockery angrily and slapping the dish wash towel hard at the recalcitrant, dirty goblets. His usual hearty meal was not served; on his tasteful crème porcelain plate, he was served a meager ration of wheat sticks as his punishment.

Matimo gulped down the last bit of his berry punch, mumbling something about Findekano waiting for him to start a hunt, sprinted out of the room quickly. _The Traitorous snot!_ He would teach his precious heir a thing about loyalty later. His other sons, looking very shifty, flocked out the room hastily trailing after their eldest brother, yelling they had to go nurturing cousinly love with the heir of Nolofinwe, abandoning him to the mercy of their mother.

The harridan had the nerve to scream at him now they are alone in the breakfast room. _Why wouldn't you give me another child?_ She wailed. He tactfully pointed out that 7 are too many and having the eighth is just absurd, Eru forbid if they have another son again! Seriously women are too disturbingly emotional, there is no need to kick him hard in the shin when he's being reasonable and intelligently pointing out the obvious, but next she started yowling about trying for a _daughter_.

Oh that was the trap he felled for so many times, he's definitely wiser now. Feanaro fervently desired for a daughter where she would grow up to be the paragon of Noldor womanhood, skilled in the gentle women-craft of embroidery, weaving and dancing. 'Tis not fair, even Nolofinwe and Arafinwe have a daughter each, and they are only half as witty as him.

Reprieve was delivered when Nerdanel's lady friend house called her to stroll out to the market. Very appreciative of this rescue, he quickly pulled out a fat purse overstuffed with coins and grabbed her cloak to send her and her companion on their merry way, praying Nerdanel would come home mollified after exercising her shopping passion.

Finally peace and quiet!!! Feanaro had time to relax and focus. True he always wished for a daughter, someone who could inherit all of Miriel's crafts and skills. He tried for an eon to teach his boorish, hunting obsessed sons the fine and elegant art of embroidery but each of them failed spectacularly. Matimo the Clumsy snapped every set of needles Feanaro crafted. Makalaure was always composing 1 or 2 tunes in his head rather than focusing on picking the right color of silk thread for the pattern. Tyelkormo shoot the needles as if they are darts at Carnistir, which would degenerate to a raging fistfight between brothers, destroying the furniture. Curufinwe just ran to the forge to try to craft a better set of needles. And Ambarussa, don't even go there, these flippant twin boys ended up playing practical tricks on their brothers.

Well Makalaure was almost like a daughter, to be fair, if only he could rein in his wandering mind to excel at other crafts, he would be an ideal substitute for a daughter Feanaro never had.

Desperate time called for desperate measure, Feanaro determined there is only one resolution for him to escape this constant nattering of having more children. Running to his forge, he opened up the secret chest and digs up his most menacing, sharp looking sword. Grinning wildly, Feanaro was ready to execute his brilliant plan. Nolofinwe will be in for a nasty shock when his estranged half brother trod up to him, brandishing his sword and put up a front about the injustice and slight and whatever he can dole out to increase the intensity of this melodrama to secure his banishment. Ah Formenos, the blessed promise land, where it is perpetually too outlandishly cold for Nerdanel to pack up her possessions to follow him. She preferred nice, warm weather where she can sculpt her statues leisurely in the garden. There will be freedom, peace and quiet!!! Even if he has to listen to his sons gushing relentlessly on the finesse of building camp fire, the extreme care of raising a pack of noisy, useless hounds, the art and joy of stalking preys and killing them in a single stroke while fixating their gazes on the blood spilling down the limp bodies and similar rubbish for a very, very, very long time and endure the deprivation of lofty, erudite discourse, it will be worth it!

By Eru, he hoped his plan would work out. He's got more dumb sons than he can count in one hand; there is hardly any need for a dozen more. Terrifying Nolofinwe is his specialty. Feanaro left his house brimming with contentment and uncontainable eagerness - hurting Nolofinwe always uplifted his foul mood, and this time, the end result will be so rewarding. He almost cackled.


End file.
